


An Uneasy Truce

by JohnMarston



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Past Abuse, Post-Canon, Sharing a Body, Undertale Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 11:29:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13212798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnMarston/pseuds/JohnMarston
Summary: Frisk has Chara fight their battles for them. Post pacifist.





	An Uneasy Truce

**Author's Note:**

  * For [valety](https://archiveofourown.org/users/valety/gifts), [feralphoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/gifts), [whittler_of_words](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whittler_of_words/gifts).



> So uh yeah this is the first time I've written anything since my art history final paper in college. And, the first time I've written fiction... ever? I think? Unless 4th grade essays count. Hope it isn't too awful.
> 
> I played Undertale for the first time this year on PS4 and fell in love with it. I then found AO3 and voraciously devoured every Chara/Frisk/Asriel fic (mostly Chara tbh) I could find. Now I find myself haunting the new stories endlessly every day. It's probably not healthy.
> 
> I woke up in the middle of the night and jotted down the idea so I wouldn't forget - transcribed, it's "Frisk only lets Chara drive when they've messed up and don't want to face the consequences." I originally intended in it being 1st person, then swapped to 2nd, and finally ended up with 3rd, so if anything feels wonky that might be why.
> 
> I didn't use an outline? Or, like, ask anyone else to proofread, or anything? So if it feels weirdly paced, or there's any errors, that's why. And please don't be afraid to comment so I can fix them! (because I'm pretty sure you can edit on here but like I said this is my first story so idk).
> 
> Total writing/proofreading/etc. time was ~4.5hrs. Also, it made me really appreciate the people who can do 100k+ word fanfics. That's nuts. This was killing me at like 4.3k or whatever it was.
> 
> I adore fluff and then I went and wrote angst so idk I wish I could write something fluffier. I mean it's a bit fluffy at the end but eh.

It's as if the entire world is... muffled. Distant. Like there's water stuck in both ears, and a double wrapping of silk around their face. Everything feels ephemeral, composed of nothing more than fog and vague whisperings of solidity. Time doesn't really pass as much as it slowly slips by, unchanging, unhurried, fog slipping between fingers as they try to grasp it, truly feel it's passing – 

but no. Gone, fading away in the morning light.

It's hard to invest oneself into something so fleeting. To actually put forth effort; to do anything more than simply drift along, bobbing in the unseen eddies and whorls. Reality comes in brief _(far, far too brief)_ snippets, each more precious than the last, and the urge to _grip down_ and keep _feeling_ is strong, but. They know where that leads. Where that led the first time, and the last.

They won't let it happen again.

So they treasure those times when they come. Even though they're scarce, even though the circumstances are less than ideal, they suck it up and make do. That's what big kids do, after all. They deal with their problems. And, oh, is this...? Yes, they think so – 

Life.

It's always so abrupt. Thrust into the driver's seat, after days or weeks of nothing. Disorientating is putting it lightly. It blinds them, deafens them, as they scramble to catch up and understand the situation they've been thrust into. If they would just _pay attention, _it wouldn't be so bad, but – it's just so _hard_ when nothing matters. When it all feels pointless.__

____

____

Unlike now.

The pain hits them first. White hot, flashing up their arm, into their shoulder. Their ears are ringing with the sound of cruel laughter. They – they can't _see_ , they can't _SEE_ – or – no, they feel their nose crunching into the gravel – they can see, it's just not much to look at right now. A bubbly giggle tries to claw it's way out of their throat, but they choke it down, a coppery taste filling their mouth. The mocking laughter swirls around them, consumes them, as they finally get a sense of their surroundings, as their face is ground further into the dirt, as even more pressure is applied to the arm held behind their back, as it feels dangerously close to cracking, to popping, to –

Ok then. They can work with that.

They spin _into_ their attacker's grasp, rather than resisting it. It reminds them of a show they'd idly noticed the other was watching while drifting in the void: _Animal Planet._ A crocodile, upon securing their prey, would go into a death roll, spinning around and around until there was no life left to snuff out. With a sickening pop and a startled yelp (not from them, never from _them_ – they wouldn't give them the satisfaction –) they're released, flopping down onto the ground before their other arm has time to catch them, the ground forcing what little breath they had in their lungs out in a grunt. They spring up quickly, eyes flashing, spinning to face their assailant to find – 

their mother? 

their father? – but 

No.

Another child, same year as them, just. Larger. Puberty had been kind to them. His face screwed up into a mixture of disgust and fear as they eyed the child they had moments ago been tormenting, but now with so much more _fight_ in them. Despite the one arm now hanging limp at their side, their eyes burned with a fury so different from the timid, gentle soul that had been terrified only moments ago. They raised the only arm that would respond to their commands as a smile stretched across their face, wide, wider than it had any right to be on such a small face, clenching it into a tight fist while their eyes dared the other child to _please_ come forward, _please_ just give them a chance to defend themselves, to fight back, to _hurt them_ , their eyes aflame with hatred and rage and a giggle slipping through their too tight lips as they hoped beyond hope that they could –

And they were alone. A final “fuck you, freak!” lingering in the air, the child was the only one left in the secluded corner of the playground, high points of red remaining in their cheeks as the too tight smile slowly faded. They closed their eyes and sucked in a deep breath: freshly mown lawns, faint car exhaust, a lingering scent of ice cream on the breeze as the soft jingling of a cart made it's way down the neighborhood. They tasted remnants of spaghetti still on their tongue, pieces of butterscotch pie stuck in their teeth. They opened their eyes to see blue, achingly beautiful, deeper than any ocean, interspersed with white fluffy cottonballs that caught fire on the edges from the glow of the sun. They savored each of these more than the last as they took another deep breath and prepared to hand control back over to – 

Oh. Their arm.

They inspected it, hanging at their side like a limp _(spaghetti)_ noodle. No protruding bones; no blood, from what they could tell. They prodded it, feeling, strangely, nothing. Until – ah. Dislocated. Well, that just wouldn't do.

They braced themselves against the fence nearby, sucked in another deep breath and, with an altogether too well practiced movement, slammed their shoulder back into the joint and

Stars burst before their eyes. Bile rose in their throat, the pie threatening to make a second appearance, but they forced it back down, head spinning, taking it all in, committing it to memory. Even this, even pain; anything is better than the grey nothingness they were about to embrace yet again. So they endured.

Several minutes later, the child stumbled back into the main playground, where teachers could see them and protect them. They looked a little scuffed up, but really, nothing too worse for the wear. Probably was just playing by themselves, as they often did. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just another day.

 _Thanks, Chara,_ thought Frisk.

_Don't mention it._

 

\-----

 

They hadn't meant to. Really, they hadn't. But imagine for a second that you've come up with a plan. A foolproof plan, to pay back the most selfless and loving people you'd ever known, who showed you that kindness was a possibility, that there was a difference between _mother_ and _Mom_ and _father_ and _Mr. Dad guy,_ who could comfort you in bad days and just be near you at night and just mean so _MUCH_

And you came up with this plan with the most kind, the most gentle, the most _perfect_ person you'd ever known. Who would always be there for you, never doubt you. Who would give up their life for yours, as you would for them. As you were going to. As you did.

And then it all went wrong. You realized, too late, that he was too kind. He was too gentle. He was too perfect. You tried to pervert that, to turn him into something he wasn't, to turn him into something – like you. Messed up. Broken. Wretched.

And because of that, he died.

And because of that, everything changed.

They couldn't care less about the six humans Asgore killed. _(well, not at first. not until after they grew to know Frisk, to know that Asriel had a twin in all his kindness and perfection – and one among humans, at that. and then they had to wonder – what about the six of them? what if they, too, were – well. it's too late now. just another regret among an ocean of them)_ They were human, after all. But what that must have cost Asgore; Asgore, with his deep, sonorous rumbling laughter, shaking the foundations of buildings as he chuckled at whatever game they and Asriel were playing this time, with his massive, gentle paws, destined to help things grow and flourish and bloom; who had turned those paws into weapons. Because of them, he became a murderer. They might as well have swung the trident themselves.

Because of them, Toriel no longer loved him. The nose nuzzler champions of countless years in a row, passing puns back and for hours, teaching each other to bake and garden and so much more, ruined. All in an instant. All in one, singular instant. All when the little seed of the worst idea ever imagined sprouted into something more in the poisoned muck that was their brain, that bloomed into a sickly flower with the power to destroy entire worlds. All because of them.

So, yeah, they snapped a bit. When they woke up, despite all odds, in another _human_ , well. With how fucked up the world had become, they figured it was just hell. They deserved it, of course. Nobody deserved it more. So they fought Frisk the whole way. Urging them to fight, struggling for control. Gaining it, a few times, here and there. Dust stained their footsteps; not all the time, no, but on occasion. They tried to clean this place of everyone else, everyone who tormented them and showed them just how awful they were – they already _knew,_ didn't they realize?

And then, at the final battle, it all clicked. 

Asriel. That perfect little sunbeam. I mean, sure, he had issues. He was a bit spoiled. He had trouble grasping “no” - he had gotten everything he ever wanted before, after all. But he was just so _good._ So kind, and selfless, and _pure._ But they took that and crushed it all. Ground it underneath their boot, and stamped out anything good that would have survived, and replaced it with an abomination. _Kill or be killed._ That's what they had wanted at the village, right? He stood up for himself, stood up to them, and died as a result. And in the greatest irony of all, instead of realizing how _right_ he was for that – he went the opposite way, and blamed himself. 

It just wasn't fair.

So they couldn't take it. After Flowey was gone, they mustered up all their grief and rage and despair and just – reset. Back to the beginning. And this time, nobody, not even Frisk was going to get in their way.

They killed.

So many.

Oh sure, Frisk struggled. Frisk had more determination than they did, in fact. But sheer, white hot rage fueled them, powered them, let them steamroll all over that poor child's gentle nature. Near the end, they were little more than a murmur, deep in their shared soul, wishing and hoping for a better end.

Until Sans.

When he offered them mercy, something- no, someone- they had thought was long buried stirred. _Mercy._ After all they'd done, everyone they'd killed – well. It just resonated with the little kid a bit too much. Their own determination burst forth, overpowering Chara's, leaving them roaring and raging, trapped inside the grey, empty space with nowhere to go. They saw what Sans did to Frisk, his so-called mercy, their hatred flaring to even greater heights, telling Frisk _can't you see, he DESERVES this, they ALL DO_ – but Frisk merely died with a small smile on their face and summoned that same power Chara had an eternity ago.

They woke back up in the flowers. And this time, despite all their efforts, Chara couldn't break free.

So they observed. They observed, bitter with hatred, as Frisk spared each monster. As Frisk made friends with those who wished them harm. Who wanted them dead. Who would attack a _child,_ and the monsters couldn't feign ignorance – Frisk's sweater was striped, after all.

And they learned.

They learned that there was another way. That things had changed, yes, irreversibly, and yes, it was still all their fault _(they'd never stop blaming themselves);_ but that didn't mean they had to continue.

So they helped. In what little ways they could. Advice, commentary. Frisk could hear them, if they wanted to be heard. Normally there was a sort of wall between the two: the nothingness they existed in sort of absorbed everything. But if they strained, they could make contact. Could feel, in small bits, what Frisk was feeling. It was tough, but. Something was better than nothing.

Frisk could talk back, but did so very rarely. They seemed afraid of them. Understandably so.

So when Frisk, facing their best friend again, this time even yet stronger than before, after saving their own friends, reached out to THEM- to save _THEM?_ After all Chara had done to them? After murdering their friends, heartlessly, as if it was all merely a game and – and they STILL wanted to save them?

Well.

Chara snapped. Again. In a good way, this time. They vowed that never again would they ask for anything. They'd be content floating in this nonexistence because, let's be real – even that is more than they deserve. And if there was anything they could do for Frisk, anything at all – they'd do it.

They'd already ruined someone they loved once. Never again.

They thought as much at Frisk. Frisk... had a difficult time believing them, and honestly, Chara couldn't blame them. I mean, the last time they were in control, they almost ended the world. It's a bit of an about face. Chara didn't mind. They expected as much. They just wanted to get message out there. Past experience has taught them that anything they touch tends to end up broken anyway.

Chara resigned themselves to an empty, unfeeling, pointless existence. It was the least they could do.

So they were shocked when, a few weeks later, Frisk called their name.

 

\-----

 

_Hey, Chara?_

Chara snapped out of the nothing they were doing. It was exhausting. 

_Oh! Uh... greetings, Frisk. What is it that you need?_

Frisk's consciousness felt... wary. Tentative. For good reason.

_What did you mean when you said you'd help?_

Chara thought about it. What _did_ they mean? There wasn't much they could offer; Frisk was better at making friends, at being kind, at... just about everything, really.

 _I hadn't really thought about it,_ thought Chara. _I just... wanted to offer my services. I realize that the path I was heading down was wrong. Irredeemably, irrecoverably wrong. This is my way of apologizing to you for... well, everything. Whatever it is, if you require it of me, I'll assist in any way I can. I realize that... there's not much I can offer to you. You're incredibly selfless, and kind, and... so much more than I am. But the arrangement stands, if you find need of me._

Frisk hummed in acknowledgment, paused for a little bit, and then thought, _But that's not true. You're good at lotsa things. You're much more braver than me, and faster. Better at dodging, too. When you were... you know..._ they hesitated.

 _Yes, I understand,_ thought Chara.

_Yeah. When you were like that, you were so sure of yourself. I mean, it was awful, but you weren't scared of anything. I... I get scared a lot. I was scared of Undyne, and Mettaton, and Asgore. But you're never like that._

_I... see,_ thought Chara. _So you want me to give you encouragement when you're frightened? I can certainly do that._

Frisk squirmed. _Well... not essactly. Now that you're not so... mad... I was thinkin' that maybe you could step in? Only when I'm extra scared-_

Chara froze, if that was possible. _Frisk... I'm not sure that's the best idea. Last time I was in control I –_ they choked. _I murdered everyone. In cold blood. I... can't trust myself anymore. Do you understand what I mean?_

Frisk hummed again. _Yeah, I unnerstand, Chara but. I think, now that you're not so mad, I think I can kick you out again if something goes bad. Like last time._

 _I... well. If you insist, Frisk. I did say anything. But please,_ please - _be careful. I really, truly don't want you to regret this._

Frisk smiled. _I won't! Thank you, Chara!_

 

\-----

 

And so it went. Whenever Frisk was overwhelmed, or frightened, or otherwise incapacitated, they would sort of... step back, and Chara would be thrust into the world. It didn't happen frequently, of course; Frisk was often surrounded by their friends, and they had a loving mom in Toriel, who tended to spoil them a bit (which, under the circumstances, was quite reasonable, Chara thought). So Chara tended to savor those moments that they were able to escape their dull existence, even if the situations they ended up in weren't exactly savory.

Like now.

The kitchen flashed into existence (for Chara, anyway). Getting a grip on their surroundings, they hear Frisk whimper in their head, _sorry sorry sorry I just wanted – bake a pie for mom – but – too hot –_

Dark smoke was billowing out of the oven, black inky streams of coalesced charcoal. Chara cursed and scrambled for the fire extinguisher under the kitchen sink, slamming their head into the counter in their rush. They'd worry about it later.

They emerged and covered their mouth and nose with a towel they had found, inching over to the oven. They opened it up and leaned back from the outpouring of smoke that burst forth, leaning down and pointing the extinguisher before letting fire. White clouds burst forth to battle with the darker ones, each vying for control and trying to smother the other. In the end, the smoke lessened and stopped, half the kitchen frosted over with a thick, white gel. The child took it all in with a wide grin, pleased to have conquered the fire, and set about cleaning up the place, breathing in deeply despite the acrid scent and humming happily to themselves.

They tossed the extinguisher into the trash, reached down under the sink again to grab a couple towels, and began wiping the counters down. The foam dripped and spread, running down the drawers and cabinets as the towels became over-saturated and began pushing the foam around rather than absorbing it. Frisk began to come to in their head, their whimpers slowing as they started to speak again, _...sorry Chara,_ they whispered.

 _It's alright,_ they murmured back, _no harm done._ They grabbed a new towel and opened up a drawer to clean up any foam that had slipped inside to find – 

knives. Bright, sharp, gleaming knives. Chara froze.

Everything else faded into the background. Their vision telescoped, focusing entirely onto the cool metal blades, the warm, comforting wooden handles, senses of smell and hearing fading out, even as Frisk's whispers of _Chara?_ turned increasingly louder until they were practically shouting, Chara's hands trembling as they reached out, ever closer to grabbing onto a handle and giving it a test swing and already seeing dust on their palms and – 

They thrust themselves away, pushed Frisk back into control and curled up into themselves in the void, shuddering and shaking. They had thought themselves changed, they had thought themselves healed – at least to some degree – 

they had thought wrong.

 _...ra? Chara, are you there?_ Frisk's voice whispered in to their consciousness, and Chara jerked their head up, wiping at their eyes and dragging their forearm across their nose. Not that there was anything there, of course; big kids don't cry. Just better to be safe than sorry.

 _Here, Frisk._ Chara muttered. _I'm over here._

A ghostly form materialized out of the fog, gaining more and more solidity until they were standing next to Chara. They looked concerned, and, after a moment's hesitation, lowered themselves down to Chara's level on the floor, if there was such a thing here.

They glanced around a little, and after a little bit, whispered, _...what is this place?_

Chara stared at them. _What do you mean? This is where I always am. This is inside our mind._

Frisk hummed. _Really? This reminds me more of... hmm. You memember when we died, in the underground? Before we came back to life, when we'd hear Asgore telling us to keep going? It's... really empty. There's not really anything here._

 _Yes, Frisk,_ Chara said exasperatedly, _this is how it always is._

Frisk's face twisted up in confusion. _Really? When I let you take over, I'm still there, I'm just... a little bit out of it, if that makes sense? Like, I can still see everything, but the emotions don't hit as hard. I'm still scared, just... less so._

 _Huh._ Chara thought it over for a bit. _Maybe it's because it's your body, whereas I'm more just a parasite._ Chara missed Frisk's face twisting up at the word “parasite” as they continued, _Since it's your body, it makes sense that you'd be more... present, in a sense. More corporeal._

Frisk paused for a second, then, _...but, Chara? Does that mean you're sitting here in nothing... all the time? What do you do?_

 _Well,_ Chara murmured, _I... think? I guess. If I concentrate really hard, I can get a feel for whatever it is that you're doing at the moment. Most of the time I just... exist. I don't really do much of anything. I bide my time until you need me._ Chara sighed. _Not that that'll be happening again..._

Frisk looked confused. _What do you mean?_

 _Frisk, I'm not stupid, alright?_ Chara snapped. _I know you saw me fixated on those knives. I thought... I had hoped I had moved past that. But I failed again. I could barely wrench myself away from them, and I don't even want to imagine what horrors I might have done had I gotten my hands on them. Just... please, leave me be. I'm not safe. I won't bother you again._

 _Chara,_ Frisk started gently. They reached out, slowly, and gently grasped one of Chara's hands in their own, sandwiched between their own like a warm hug. _It might have been bad... but it wasn't. You didn't do anything. I didn't have to do anything. You stopped yourself, right?_ Frisk's mouth's corners turned upwards in a small smile.

_… Frisk –_

_It's okay! Yeah, you might not be a hunnred percent okay just yet, but baby steps, right? And I'll always be here looking out for you in case you make a mistake,_ they continued, their smile continuing to grow.

_I'm not saying everything's perfect right now. I know it's gonna take time. But, but Chara, I'm happy to be there for you and to help you grow past this. I... I still memember those membories you gave me, of you and Asriel. You had so much love in you... I know you can get back there again. I know it._

_… You're unbelievable, you know that, right Frisk?_ Chara muttered. But still, they brought their other hand up and clasped Frisk's hand in their own. Frisk's smile grew even wider, which had previously seemed impossible. _…Thank you,_ they whispered.

 _I love you too, Chara!_ they chirped. Chara softly giggled, pushing past the lump in their throat, their cheeks turning even more pink than usual. _And I'm real sorry you've been stuck here for so long! I didn't realize it was this..._ they glanced around and shivered. _...bleh._ Chara snickered.

The two stayed like that for a while, sitting in agreeable silence, basking in each others company, clasped hand in hand, and among the foggy grey swirls one could almost see hints of color bleeding through, like the sky just before a sunrise.

 

\-----

 

Later that night, Chara was floating among the _(suspiciously lighter)_ grey _(was it really all grey, now? weren't those hints of pinks and oranges, and maybe even a little robin's egg blue?)_ when suddenly they were jolted back into the land of the living. Strange – normally it's several days in between visits. Not that they're complaining.

Blinking, taking their adjustment period as always as they prepare to face whatever it was Frisk couldn't, they find themselves... sitting in their room at their desk, the wall splashed with golden yellow from both the last rays of sunshine outside and the star-themed lamp set on the desk. Worriedly, they glanced around, wondering what it was Frisk needed them for this time.

 _Frisk?_ Chara asked. _What's wrong?_

 _Nothing! I just wondered if... maybe, you'd want to have dessert tonight? I asked mom if I could take it up to my room..._ Frisk sounded shy, which was a feat in itself to convey in an internal voice.

Chara blinked, glanced down, and saw – oh my.

Chocolate cake.

 _Frisk_ – Chara started.

 _I really don't mind!_ Frisk interrupted. _I can still taste it, even when you're in charge. Senses are still there, it's just bad emotions that are dulled a bit. I get, like ninety percent of the flavor. And that stuff is really really rich. Almost too rich._ Chara got the sense of a nose being wrinkled up. _And chocolate is your favorite... right?_

_I – I mean, yes, but – you don't have to, Frisk, really –_

_Sure I do Chara! I have a lot to make up for. You've been stuck there for a really long time, and you've only been able to come out when I was too scared to do it myself. That hasn't been fair to you..._

Chara felt their heart grew tight in their chest. _If... you're sure...,_ they whispered.

 _Of course I'm sure!_ they chirped. Somehow, they could see Frisk's wide, cheery grin in their mind's eye. _It's all yours!_

Hands shaking (although they'd never admit it to themselves), Chara slowly picked up the fork next to the plate and sliced a small edge piece off, making sure to grab a generous dollop of frosting. They slowly lifted it to their mouth and opened wide, and – 

Mmmm. 

_Mmmmmm,_ Frisk hummed in agreement. _Delicious!_

Their cheeks felt strangely damp, and a couple wet drops of an unknown substance fell down to the desk beneath them as they continued to eat, ever so slowly, savoring every bite. Frisk must still have control of their eyes, they decided. After all, they – Chara – were a big kid. And big kids don't cry.

Frisk giggled in their head, and Chara had to bite back a giggle of their own.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to valety, feralphoenix, and whittler_of_words. I've read all of their stories countless times and I'm sure I'll continue to do so in the future. Plenty of other artists I admire on here too, don't get me wrong, but them especially- hence the gift. (is that ok etiquette? again I have no idea)
> 
> Also I wanted to have puns (coming from Chara more than Frisk) but that requires a mastery of the english language far beyond what I have. Like, for real, I spent a good five minutes trying to think of a fog pun for Chara to say at the end of the handholdy section but, uh, as evinced by the lack thereof- no dice.


End file.
